The chaos behind them had finally settled into an eerie stillness. The remaining demons stand wary of the obsidian creature who had grown almost as tall as the mountains. It looked like a black mirror, warped and reflective, as if it were not just a thing but a portal. One that did not lead to another place, but to death itself.
Death for demons is different from humans. After all, the humans have an afterlife. Their souls remain tethered to this realm, scavenged and consumed by stronger beings. The reason behind this is the difference in soul power. Humans have stronger soul than demons do. Their spiritual essence runs deeper than that of demons, who are mainly just their flesh and bones. For such damned souls there is no need for an afterlife.
But the nobles, they are a different breed. They are immortal. But this immortality is not iron-clad either. Not when one immortal wants another dead.
These are thoughts for another time. Right now, Ren Jiang's army stands locked in a tense stalemate with Zhang Xiyu. The obsidian creature looms between them like an immovable wall. Above them, archers draw their bows—but they don't fire. The tension is maddening. The demons twitch with the need to fight. Even if they are very likely to die, they want to fight till their last breaths, not stand here like mannequins. But no order comes from the commanders.
The two commanders remain on edge, eyes fixed on Zhang Xiyu, who appears maddeningly relaxed. So, what if the plan was ruined? They came for war and they are very well prepared for it! The only difference is that they lost the upper hand.
The demons slowly gather back their wits. The man knew we would be here and yet he decides to deliver himself on their doorsteps.
What a foolish man…
Their perspective shifts. Zhang Xiyu is just a ghost and behind him stands a laughable army, barely armed and barely dressed for war. Sure, the man is troublesome, but he is far from invincible.
Su Bao sneers, the aggression returning to his bones. Let's do this.
"This is not a battle." Su Bao's mouth hangs open as Zhang Xiyu interrupts him.
"I promise that most of you will soon be allowed to leave." Zhang Xiyu's sinister voice echoes through the red valley. The demons' skin crawl when they hear him. Not that he said anything particularly terrifying and even his voice carries the calm charm of a nobleman. And yet it felt inexplicably wrong.
Zhang Xiyu smiles gently. "We will be quick."
"What the fuck is he saying?" Su Bao mutters, irritation needling his nerves.
Zhang Xiyu doesn't answer. He simply waves a hand. The army behind him lurches forward like puppets on strings. "Attack!" Su Bao shouts, reacting instantly.
The goal is to capture Zhang Xiyu alive. And Su Bao—one of Ren Jiang's strongest warriors—is the man for the job. He unsheathes his sword, the famous Karyu, the Fire Dragon. Contrary to the name, the blade summons no dragons. But fire flickers visibly along its edge, burning orange with sword intent. Unsheathing it is a provocation.
Sadly, Zhang Xiyu doesn't care for it. Instead, his eyes drift toward the army behind Su Bao.
The demons advance, their heavy blades glinting in their grips, eyes locked on the enemy ahead. However, some attention is spared on the unsuitable terrain of this battle. It was supposed to take place in the plains, right near the enemy's base. But this valley is too narrow for any big movements. A small stampede had already crushed a few of their own let alone a war.
With such tumultuous thoughts, the soldiers are too late to notice the blanket of arrows falling on them.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Some soldiers carelessly pull out the arrows embedded in their bodies while the others don't even bother. They are no delicate maidens that will die from a mere arrow.
Except can this be even called an arrow?
A soldier examines the thing stained by his blood. It's a dart.
And it is made of spiritual energy.
He sneers and crushes it with his qi. Or atleast he tries to.
I can't move.
His eyes roll around wildly, watching as his fellow demons freeze mid-motion. Even the horses are caught with hooves suspended mid-gallop and-
Why can't I move?
The battlefield falls deathly silent. Su Bao turns back, impatience burning in his chest. "What now?!"
Behind him, his soldiers hang motionless in the air. Horses frozen mid-leap. It's as if time has ceased to exist for them. And behind those soldiers stands a huge obsidian wall which is chewing?
Yes, the wall has a mouth! Multiple limbs dangle from its jagged fangs. They must be those who tried to run away. Its movements stark like a torch in this motionless terrain. "What... is going on…" He breathes.
He whirls around—only to find his vision dropping.
The ground beneath him ripples. A black hole woven from the same otherworldly thread as the obsidian wall has opened beneath him and his horse.
It's pulling them in.
Su Bao reacts fast. A blast of qi surges from his core as he flips in the air and lands hard, skidding several feet away. Behind him, the monstrous horse disappears into the abyss with a sickening squelch.
"I won't summon them to cover the entire valley." Zhang Xiyu says casually. Su Bao's face turns green.
This threat would not have worried him if he had a teleportation stone. But such things are only for the nobles. Not men like him. His mind blanks as the next words fall from Zhang Xiyu's smiling lips.
"So you can struggle to your heart's content."
Su Bao wants to ask – Am I your plaything?
But those words remain clogged in his mouth as he ducks a massive war axe swinging for his skull. The axe is double-sided, over five feet long, yet it moves with eerie grace in the hands of a towering, muscle-bound ogre. Despite its intimidating size, the creature glides like air.
Zhang Xiyu off-handedly remarks. "Meet Shadowhound."
As Su Bao parries the axe frantically, Zhang Xiyu turns to Hao Enlai as if making polite conversation. "Shadowhound here needs to eat at least a hundred demons to survive. And I have stopped feeding him for many weeks."
Hao Enlai watches in horror as Su Bao's Karyu blade clashes hopelessly against the colossal axe. Su Bao's Karyu looks like a toothpick in front of that battle axe. Such is the monster's strength while starving. Is he crashing out because of hunger?
"You see, this bastard had offended me." Zhang Xiyu continues. "Can't even remember what he did..."
He shrugs. "Anyway, I locked him up to starve. As you can see, it's starting to affect him." Zhang Xiyu scoffs at the hardworking monster as if his performance is pathetic.
"He begged to eat all of you, but do not worry. I wouldn't let this beast sully my precious guests." Zhang Xiyu smiles lightly. At that, he recoils. Call it a trick of mind but something in Hao Enlai's gut twists.
A blood churning scream resounds through the valley Shadowhound's axe slams into Su Bao's ribs, lodging deep between the bones. Su Bao grits his teeth, slides the axe out of his own chest, and staggers back, blood pouring from a gaping wound. Zhang Xiyu watches Hao Enlai's growing horror with delight. "Su Bao is a close confidant of Ren Jiang. That man will surely notice something wrong with him. So, I have decided... to discard him."
"I have allowed Shadowhound to eat him. If he fails, he is clearly a lost cause."
Shadowhound snarls, driven by hunger and desperation. Hao Enlai stares in disbelief.
What kind of sick man is he? Let alone enemies, he seeks sadistic entertainment even within his own troops.
Yet why is Hao Enlai being spared? His army has gone through all sorts of ups and downs while Hao Enlai is untouched. Not even a scratch. As if reading his thoughts, Zhang Xiyu looks back at his army and scorns.
The Rolangs on the frontline get the intention and rush to grab the demons. Meanwhile, Hao Enlai grips his sword and prepares to fight. But no one attacks him. The archers, the Skinwalkers—they all avoid him. Like someone gave them orders.
"You treacherous bastard!" The shout cuts through the air. Hao Enlai turns, startled.
Su Bao is still standing, barely. Blood pours from him in rivers, but his eyes burn with hate. Not at Zhang Xiyu.
At Hao Enlai.
"Look at you," Su Bao spits, "sitting all high and... mighty on that steed. You fucking betrayed us, didn't you?"
"What?" Hao Enlai stammers.
Neither of them notices that Shadowhound has backed away.
Su Bao coughs blood onto the ground, eyes locked on Hao Enlai. "You betrayed Liu Xue. The one who brought you into the court."
He snarls. "So, it wouldn't be surprising if you did it again. You're just a fucking whore for power."
Panic creeps into Hao Enlai's veins. "I did not betray you guys. You- "
"Mr. Hao," Zhang Xiyu interrupts, eyes twinkling, "before we begin the process, let them demonstrate."
A Rolang drags a soldier into view and tosses him to the ground like a sack of meat.
Su Bao and Hao Enlai temporarily pause their conflict and look at the Rolang with apprehension. The Rolang begins to strip. Buck naked now, he looms over the frozen soldier. Though the body cannot move, the eyes twitch, wide with horror, its mind is still alive and running.
The Rolang then pulls out a dagger from his pants and kneels over the motionless soldier. He flips the soldier over and stabs the blade into the nape of the neck, then drags it down the spine like opening a zipper.
The soldier convulses; a scream caught in his frozen throat. His body lies helpless beneath the butcher's hand. The process repeats again and again until the Rolang is satisfied with the cavity he has carved out in the soldier's back. At last, the soldier's mind shuts down, finally escaping the agony.
Knowing that the demon is longer conscious, the Rolang breaks open its head like a coconut, letting the grey matter spill out his skull like a mushed bloody juice. Since the demon barely have any soul power, the brain is the essence. The Rolang cleans it out to make sure that the intellect of the body's owner does not interfere with the operation.
While his brain continues to pour itself out, the Rolang squats and rummages again through his pants to find multiple scoops. He finds an appropriate scoop and goes back to the body. One by one, he scoops out flesh like melon balls. The pile beside him grows—meat, tendon, fat. Occasionally, the Rolang with break out the bones out of the original skeleton and throw that out too. All that matters is the skin.
The skin must remain pristine.
All around them, Zhang Xiyu's army begins reenacting the process. A chorus of desecration unfolds. Hao Enlai and Su Bao stare in paralyzed horror as their army is methodically skinned by grotesque, naked monsters.
Only now does the full meaning of Zhang Xiyu's convoluted words settle into Hao Enlai's mind.
They aren't just going to die. They are going to be replaced.
Their bodies stolen. Their identities worn like costumes. And the ones who care about them will never know they're gone. For Ren Jiang, it will appear to be a flawless victory. He won't know until later that his entire army was brutally massacred.
And when he finds out, it will already be too late.
"…why? You sold… us… out?"
Su Bao rasps, his accusing gaze pinned on Hao Enlai. "You asshole… you will die like the whore you are!"
Hao Enlai starts to feel a headache at this critical misunderstanding. On one hand he can deny these claims with a broadened chest. Proudly point fingers at Zhang Xiyu and rush to attack that depraved bastard. Like a hot-blooded youngster he can arrogantly proclaim their brotherhood and join in a desperate attempt to bring that old ghost down.
But this is not a soap opera. Hao Enlai is certain that Zhang Xiyu is not inclined to spare Su Bao's life. He is as good as dead right now. And there is no need to coax a dead person. So, when facing the accusation of yet again another treachery, he can only sigh.
Shadowhound's respite ends. His war axe whirls like a tornado, faster, hungrier than before. Su Bao throws everything into stopping it. His focus sharpens to a blade's edge—yet the longer the fight drags, the clearer his doom becomes. When a man faces death, his mind fractures. The sharpness of intent dulls. Thoughts turn cloudy and buried emotions crawl to the surface.
Su Bao bleeds everywhere—a deep gash in his leg, a hole yawning in his chest, one eye gone. Still, he fights. His shredded throat rasps curses at Hao Enlai. "…fucking… bastard… kill you…"
His mind slowly fogs up and, in that daze, he still cusses Hao Enlai to death. At times he would spare some curses for Ren Jiang as well. Whatever. I am going to die anyways.
He blinks the night sky. When did I fall?
Shadowhound flings the axe aside and pounces on his injured body. The last thing he sees is a terrifying set of canines biting away his face. And just like that he joined the symphony of mass desecration. The sounds of tearing, bones breaking, and chewing resounds through this piece of hell.
Hao Enlai should speak. Should form words and ask Zhang Xiyu: Why are you sparing me? But his gaze is locked on the massive beast devouring his comrade with relish—chewing his identity down to pulp until no one could tell who he was.
Every demon he brought lies in ruin. Their bodies, mangled beyond recognition, while he stands untouched. And somehow, that feels worse.
When the trance breaks, his eyes drift back to Zhang Xiyu. Like a moth to a cold flame. Zhang Xiyu lounges on his steed, surveying the carnage with casual detachment. The sarcasm has drained from his lips, leaving only that signature, frozen aloofness. His gaze slices through Hao Enlai like a northern wind from cold hell.
"Do you know why you're alive?"
Hao Enlai says nothing. To sever all hope, Zhang Xiyu continues. "You are the only one."
This should be a blessing, right? I am well and alive, while the rest have their entrails dug out of them. Yet, why does it feel like a curse?
He looks to the night sky, the red hills closing in like prison walls. The cold air drags the metallic stink of blood across his face. And in that moment, he understands.
"You've dragged me into your boat," he says hoarsely, voice trembling with bitter clarity. "Unlike Su Bao, you don't need to silence me."
"If Ren Jiang hears about this… I will be the first to die."
"That's right." Zhang Xiyu's eyes curve softly as they lighten up with dark amusement. "I don't kill without reason. And I don't need you to die."
His duplicitous expression seems to say – Aren't I better than you crude demons?
Hao Enlai feels that this is outrageous. His fear dampens in front of his revulsion and finally, he snarls. "Stop disgusting me!"
"You are no angel of mercy. Fuck, you are even worse than demons!"
His voice trembles. "I am alive. But that's not mercy."
"It's torture. I am alive because… that's the worst outcome for me."
His grip shakes on his sword. He wants to scream: Just kill me! But his mouth forms only soundless pleas. Cowardice chains him. His lungs flood with frantic breaths that shame him and soothe him all at once. I'm alive. They're dead, but I'm alive.
As he steadies himself, Zhang Xiyu grows bored. In one smooth motion, he draws a dagger and hurls it. It bites into Hao Enlai's shoulder, splitting bone. Pain blooms like wildfire. Gritting his teeth, he yanks the blade out, but the agony spreads deeper.
His brows knit. "What… did you do?"
"Consider it a reminder." Zhang Xiyu says flatly. "If Ren Jiang learns the truth, your fate will make death look merciful."
"If that doesn't appeal, kill yourself."
Hao Enlai's expression turns increasingly sour. Zhang Xiyu continues. "The dagger was poisoned" Zhang Xiyu adds. "Antidote—earned, not given. The poison has started to paralyse you. A few days left before paralysis takes you completely."
Zhang Xiyu turns his steed around. Before leaving, he says." I suggest you make haste. As soon as they are done."
And just like that, he rides away, leaving Hao Enlai in this valley of death. A place he didn't think too much about before. It was just supposed to be a path leading to their battle. A battle of swords, fists, and daggers. A battle of full of pride.
But they couldn't even reach the Shanyang camp. Instead, their demise took place in this narrow valley. They were treated like beggars and were turned away at the door while the master returns to his estate without sparing a single glance at the damned.
Hao Enlai heavily sighs. He notices that Zhang Xiyu has left a few men to watch him. He lets out a soft, absurd laugh. Why watch over me?
I am powerless.
In a daze, he looks around the silent valley. Multiple mounds of flesh and bones covered the narrow valley as the naked monsters were done carving the flesh out of them. All that was left was their skin. It lay on the muddy ground like deflated balloons. To think that he was once well acquainted with these piles of skin. Who knew their death would be so painful and cartoonish?
Meanwhile, another group of demons go around the area, shovelling the countless piles of flesh in a rickety wooden cart. They couldn't be doing this for the sake of cleaning their environment. The memory of Su Bao being devoured by Shadowhound flashes in his head.
Their meticulous devotion to this task can only mean one thing. They intend to feed on them. His listless eyes move back on his dead comrades.
Their killers sit cross-legged, skins stretched out before them. Chanting begins, low and rhythmic. A sickly green fog seeps from their mouths and fingers, coiling around the hides like a serpent. The mist clings, binding skin to monster. Hao Enlai soon figures out what the chanting was for as the Rolangs, who were experts Skinwalkers, were faster at this process.
The skin levitates in the air, gradually taking shape of the soldier it used to be. As the chants maddeningly grow, the skin loses its rigidity, becoming one with the fog. The green fog acts like a glue and a guide for the skin to mold onto the Rolang's body. Like melted wax, it settles on the Rolang's face, torso, the entire body. The fog reinforces, claiming the Rolang in its density. The fog turning denser with the increasing intensity of the ancient sutras. And then –
The fog dissipates with a hiss. There stood one of Ren Jiang's soldiers. Then another. And another. As if returning to life. As if everything that happened before was a mere dream.
Blank-faced, they climb onto waiting horses. The beasts thaw at their touch, obedient and calm, as though nothing had happened. For a heartbeat, Hao Enlai almost believes it too. Almost believes they're back at camp, mulling over strategy.
Hours drip by like blood from a blade. One by one, the horses pair with their 'masters' and the illusion completes.
"Sir."
The voice snaps him from his trance. Hao Enlai turns, arm trembling as paralysis crawls further up his body. Before the 'soldier' can speak again, he rasps, "Soldiers. We march back to base."
"…Which is in the north—"
"We know where our base is, Sir." The 'soldier' smiles sheepishly as if truly joking with his superior. But the meaning behind it freezes his gut. These creatures carry the memories of the dead. Which means that this parasitic army will never expose itself.
Is that good or bad?
The obsidian wall of mouths blocking them had dissipated as mysteriously as it had manifested. The archers were long gone. Hao Enlai leads the 'army' out of this accursed valley, leaving behind only butchered remnants and Su Bao's blood.
He glances back once. The Skinwalkers follow, their steps silent, their faces stolen. The other camps—they must be infected too.
Only he remains.
-----------------------------------------------
The serene melody of flutes tangles with the delicate hum of a zither, painting the evening in feathered strokes. The lights are warm and the beer is cold. Engulfed by the beauty of the violet sunset, the evening of celebration begins.
After all, they did slaughter his entire army.
"Zhang Xiyu's army, of course. What did you think?"
Dancing to the symphony, the ladies flutter around like colourful butterflies, serving Ren Jiang's battalion with utmost sincerity. But men are still men. Their laughter crashes through the harmony, boisterous and crude. Wine spills, hands wander, and all in the name of fun and games. Their minds light as the air and their smiles crooked.
It is a night of celebration! They must celebrate their victory over that overstaying ghost.
Wouldn't it be suspicious otherwise?
Then enters the star of tonight. Hao Enlai steps through the revelry, brushing aside eager hands that clap his back. His body feels foreign, half-numb and sinking deeper into paralysis. Still, his face is a mask of politeness, a smile stretched like drying leather. Inside, disgust curdles.
They're making me sick.
But he pushes forward. He has no choice. Yesterday, he delayed meeting Ren Jiang, faking weakness to buy time. This morning, he woke with most of his torso dead to feeling. If the poison climbs any higher, he won't wake at all. He must earn the antidote tonight.
He must perform his final act in Zhang Xiyu's wretched play.
Pushing aside the tent curtain, he freezes. Ren Jiang greets him with drunken warmth, one arm slung around Yutao's shoulders in a portrait of camaraderie. Only Hao Enlai catches Yutao's eyes—sharp as fangs, coiled like a serpent around his neck, hissing against sudden moves.
Hao Enlai knows better than to test venom. He's lived this long by knowing which battles to fight, which to crawl away from.
Yutao slips out with perfect grace, shedding Ren Jiang's arm like water and murmuring, "Mr. Hao, I'll leave you two to it."
Ren Jiang doesn't stop him. His grin bends into a sly smirk as the smoke of his kiseru curls upward. "Annihilated them all? I'll admit, I didn't expect such brilliance."
Hao Enlai forces a laugh and takes a long swallow of wine. Who knows what he's drinking? Who cares. "They weren't ready for the strike. Timing, initiative—that was our edge."
He adds a hollow chuckle. "They didn't know what hit them."
Ren Jiang roars with laughter, drunk on victory and spirits. But the mirth fades to an ember, and another thought rises from the ash.
"But… you didn't capture Zhang Xiyu."
Hao Enlai smothers the urge to drown himself in the wine jar. Instead, he lets his gaze drift wistfully, like a man rifling through memories too heavy to hold. "The assault went perfectly. Shanyang Camp burned, and Zhang Xiyu was nowhere in sight."
He lowers his voice, weighted with false grief. "So Su Bao and I… we headed for the Last Fortress. He was our strongest blade."
He pauses as if the memory hurts. "But we didn't get that far. We met him on the road."
His lips twist with disbelief—real disbelief, though Ren Jiang will never know. "The two of us fought. But his strength…"
He lets the words die, raw and breathless. "…unfathomable."
Truth bleeds into the lie. He didn't need to act. Zhang Xiyu's strength really was beyond mortal measure.
"We knew we couldn't survive. And if he reached the camp, the rest were doomed. Su Bao…" He bows his head, the martyr's tale spinning from his lips. "He held him off."
What a joke.
As if Su Bao had a choice. As if he wasn't torn apart for dinner before the fight even began. Hao Enlai imagines telling Ren Jiang the truth—that Su Bao died to feed some monster named Shadowhound. That Zhang Xiyu never even touched his sword. Ren Jiang draws slow on his pipe, and smoke rolls heavy between them. "It's a shame. What happened to Su Bao."
And that's how his martyrdom was concluded. If Hao Enlai reveals the truth about his death, Ren Jiang might go ahead and kill Su Bao's entire family. The meeting blurs after that. Something about Aika breaking house arrest, none of it sticks. He was just glad that Ren Jiang didn't catch him lying. That he was still alive.
Outside, he shoves past clinging hands, past cheers and drunken toasts. At the camp's edge, he turns once. The feast swells like a tide. Ren Jiang sits at its centre, smiling like a god.
A god dining with devils.
What Ren Jiang doesn't know is that these 'soldiers' are celebrating the massacre of his own army on his dime. The Skinwalkers that wiped out his entire army will get paid for it, sleep with their victim's wife in the victim's bed. One day, he'll learn. And by then, it will be too late.
"Great work, Minister Hao."
Hao Enlai stiffens. Yutao stands before him with an amicable smile. When did he get here? He didn't hear a step.
Hao's frown cuts through the mask. "I did what you asked." His hand juts forward. "The antidote."
Yutao laughs softly—annoyingly soft, like silk sliding over steel. "Didn't I say? The performance must be… satisfactory."
His peach-blossom eyes curve sweetly, hiding winter's edge. He leans in like an old friend whispering a joke—but Hao feels the serpent coiling tighter, its scales scraping his skin. Instinct locks his spine.
Yutao murmurs, voice low and venomous: "You will get it when I'm convinced of your silence."
"You! I can't—"
But the man doesn't bother with more words. He crushes a teleportation stone in his palm and vanishes, leaving Hao Enlai to argue with the air.